Infinities
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: She doesn't always notice things straight away. He doesn't always make them obvious. /CLYRNIN. Sort of fluff, sort of not.


I honestly have no idea what this even is, other than Clyrnin.

Written for Bad-Wolf-Reborn, or whatever she's called nowadays

I haven't written in forever, so sorry for this

(And I was referred to as blurs of red and blonde; I'm currently a mountain of gideon's scones)

* * *

"A double espresso, a caramel latte and the ten packets of cookies for the madman that you ordered, Claire," Oliver says as he pushes two bags towards Claire. Thankfully, Claire notes, they're bags with handles; she doesn't think that she would have been able to carry this order as well as the full-to-bursting backpack, and carrier bag, that she already had. "They're going onto the tab, as per usual, but make sure you tell the dog that he owes me three hundred and forty dollars from the last _week_ alone."

Claire raises an eyebrow as she takes the two bags, not bothering to thank Oliver. He's threatened her life enough times to render common courtesy futile. "I think the thing I'm going to remember the most from your little speech is the fact that you proved your insanity; you referred to Myrnin as both a human and an animal within the space of about ten seconds. Now, I know I'm a genius compared to you and everything, but even to _you_, it must be clear that you're either a dog or a human." She smiles as sweetly as she can—she's no longer scared of Oliver, and she now tries to imitate a cross between Eve and Myrnin in his presence—before picking up a sachet of sugar from the counter. Myrnin usually complains that she hasn't ordered any sugar to be put in his coffee (she does), and demands more.

Oliver's eyes flash, but he doesn't say anything in response as Claire turns away—but as the hairs stand on end on the back of her neck, she realises how glad she is that there are other people in the café. Otherwise, she thinks with a shudder, she may not have been able to get away with that comment.

Other than the incident with Oliver, Claire's journey to the lab is, for one of her journeys, relatively trouble-free. Only having to come up with one semi-sarcastic answer to one semi-comprehending person is what she considers a success; with everything she's a part of within this town, it's usually a lot more—especially when she doesn't have friends around her. She had half hoped that things would die down, what with her saving most people in the town's lives at some point or another, but no, that just makes a large majority of the population hate her even more, human _and_ vampire.

Well, she presumes about the vampires. Nobody really speaks to her, other than the ones she considers herself 'close' to (saying the words close and Oliver in the same sentence in her mind causes Claire to shudder violently), not now they understand just how many people would be willing to protect her.

Apparently Myrnin's wrath is greater than any wrath ever unleashed—_not_ that Claire wants this to happen.

~x~

Arriving at the laboratory, Claire half skips down the stairs, her perpetual fear that, one day, she's going to linger too long on them and the brittle wooden steps will break beneath her feet, plunging her into the depths of whatever hidden secrets Myrnin hides under the stairs.

(Actually, Claire's pretty certain that it's just where he stores his bottled water—he's refused to drink from the taps ever since the Draug—but she doesn't want to entertain the possibility that it could be where he stores the dead corpses from his past.)

"Claire!" Myrnin's voice half startles Claire as she takes the final step down into the laboratory, and it's only by the tips of her fingers that she retains a grasp upon the coffee bag. "Oh, I didn't mean to startle you, _cariad_, here, let me take that from you." He zooms forwards and takes the bag containing the refreshments from Claire, reaching into the bag as he half-twirls away from her. A disgusted noise follows him lifting one of the cups—Claire hopes it's his own; she hates, hates, _hates_ the coffee he orders—to his mouth, though the expression on his face is almost comical as he completes the twirl to face her once more. "Not enough sugar—if any—do you have…" he trails off as Claire reaches into her pocket and hands over the sachet she knew she would need.

"Can't say that I'm anything but prepared," she comments as Myrnin rips the top off the sachet and sends a stream of white granules into his coffee. "Anyway, why do you even need sugar anyway? It doesn't have any effect on your body, does it?"

Myrnin reaches out to hand Claire her coffee before he replies, a wicked-handsome grin spreading across his face as he does so. It's one of the smiles which, if she was recording them, would have to be within the top ten; it's brilliant and charming without the usual undertone of being bittersweet, without the residual sadness which usually accompanies Myrnin. _Not_ that she's recording them of course; he's her boss, nothing more, not that she thinks he would ever consider her to be anything other than a colleague, even if she _wanted_ something more. Which she doesn't, of course; she would have to be mad to think she could be anything other than the alchemist's assistant.

"Of course it has an effect on me, Claire," he comments, tossing the empty sugar packet on the floor. "Why else do I always go and see Oliver after I've had as much sugar as I can stand? It makes me _much_ more sarcastic, which is the only way I can get through his company without having to be sick."

"…Right…" Claire replies slowly, rolling her eyes slightly as she does so. As she takes a gulp of her own rapidly cooling coffee, she's relieved to find out that it _is_ the one she ordered for herself. "Myrnin, if you don't like the taste of the coffee without sugar, why don't you try one of the…weaker ones? It could mean you don't need the sugar." The subject of her suggestion's facial response makes her think that perhaps, this wasn't a good suggestion. "Or you could at least move onto sweeteners? They're better for your health?" Again, the facial expression makes her realise that this suggestion, like the previous one, is falling on ears which don't want to hear.

Myrnin tilts the coffee cup in his hand upwards, draining the last of the coffee, throwing the now-empty cup over his head before he replies. "But then, dear Claire, life would be _boring_! It's already so dull, seeing the same pattern of things day in, day out, having to cope with such mundane people in this town. Very few people _glow_, Claire, and do you know how hard that is for someone with a brain as active as mine?" he bounds across the room from Claire, leaving her shocked, and he begins to pull at levers and twist knobs on a machine which Claire has never seen before.

"The sugar helps me forget the fact that I am _so much more_ than most people here; it helps me to see past the dull simplicity that is most people. When I'm not simply myself, I begin to see a little something within them all, a dull glimmer of a spark that could, if nourished, become something extraordinary." He shrugs, his manic phase over as he returns to where Claire stands, relatively demure in his movements. "It dulls, of course, far too quickly within me, and I'm reminded almost immediately that the people are perfectly dull here, and that there is almost nothing to tax my brain, to make me _think_. That's all I ever want, Claire, to be able to think, to be stretched, to have someone consider something from a completely different angle."

All throughout his speech, Claire's stock-still, unable to understand what she's hearing—or at least process it. Myrnin thinks he's surrounded by ordinary people; he thinks that nobody's worth listening to, or even special enough to rival his intelligence. He doesn't think of _her_ as being anything other than another cow in a herd of cattle; whilst he may value her life more than the rest, he doesn't think that she's any better than the rest of them. She, someone who she thought he valued, is nothing more than an ordinary human.

The smile on Myrnin's lips doesn't fade as he looks at Claire; she doubts that he even realises that he's said something to upset her. "You know, I blame the processed food humans eat nowadays," he continues. "It's so full of _sugar_, and other additives. It isn't healthy for them."

She doesn't bother pointing out that his ingestion of sugar means that he's doing what the humans do, because perhaps that was his subtle way of mentioning that he's dumbing himself down in order to be more on her level. And if that's the case, she doesn't want to have to think of that.

Forcing a smile onto her lips, Claire lifts her rapidly cooling coffee to her lips and takes a long drink, not stopping until she can feel her hands have steadied slightly. "Well, talking about…sugar and coffee isn't going to make an experiment, is it?" she says, hearing the fake nature of her tone, yet Myrnin doesn't seem to notice the difference. "Shall we…shall we get on with finishing the tonic for increasing the potency of bagged blood?" she suggests, not waiting for an answer; she sets her empty cup down on the table nearest to her and stalks across the laboratory to where her dedicated experiment table is.

Myrnin doesn't notice the tears within her eyes.

Not that she'd expect him to, _obviously._

~x~

Silence reigns in the laboratory during the experiment, Claire not bothering to partake in Myrnin's mindless chatter, as she usually does. Perhaps he's only doing it because he thinks he needs to make her feel at home in the laboratory, to make her feel as though he's on the same intellectual level as she is. She knows she isn't—she never has been, and probably never will be—but she…she thought that he held her in higher esteem than he evidently does.

"You've been awfully quiet today, Claire," Myrnin points out as she tells him she needs to go see Amelie. She doesn't, not really, but it's the only way that she can ever leave the laboratory; even Myrnin would never be late to an appointment with Amelie. Not often, anyway. "Is everything quite alright?"

_No, it isn't_! She yells at him in her mind, pushing his body and pounding his chest as she tries to make him understand everything that she feels, make him understand that she isn't like the other people, that she can _feel_ more than just one emotion at a time—and that she's good enough to work with him. She curses him and screams and cries, imagining an entire scenario in which Myrnin tells her…well, he tells her what she wants to hear.

Instead, she lies. "I'm fine," she tells him, turning to smile that same fake smile she's worn all day. "Don't worry about me, Myrnin, there's nothing to worry about." _Not that you see, anyway._

He doesn't look convinced, but finally, he nods, moving with speed past Claire in order to stand in front of her. "Well, it's getting dark outside. I don't want you walking all the way to Founder's Square, just to find that Amelie has already gone home. I'll calibrate the portal for you to go straight there." A wave of horror runs through Claire at his words; how does she explain to him that she doesn't _really_ have an appointment with Amelie? Can she? Or will he just rack that up as another reason why she's an ordinary person? "One day, our experiments will have to focus on ensuring that summoning these portals don't cause your brain to fizz over, or whatever our fear was. It hurts my head to think that far back, especially in _this_ town. That shall be our work for another day, young one, for now you must go and see our Founder: enjoy."

Claire half-smiles as she reaches out to grasp the doorknob, pulling open the door to see the familiar (too familiar) sight of the foyer to Amelie's office. The presence of her assistant—a new one, someone Claire has barely spoken to—confirms that Amelie is, indeed, in her office.

The assistant takes one look at Claire before picking up a phone and dialling a number, murmuring quietly into it. Claire has no chance of hearing, not that she really wants to. Instead, she closes the portal door and takes a seat in her preferred waiting seat, picking up one of the magazines on the table next to her. She sets it down after a moment, however, realising that things like this just confirm what Myrnin said: she's normal, the same as everyone else.

"The Founder will see you now," the new assistant says suddenly, breaking Claire's reverie about whether or not she really _is_ the same as everyone else, or if Myrnin was attempting to deliberately hurt her. Perhaps…perhaps he doesn't _want_ her around anymore. Perhaps he's trying to get rid of her. "Ahem! The Founder will see you _now_." This time, the assistant sounds more than slightly annoyed—Claire has to admit that she prefers the last one—and Claire half-jumps to her feet.

Sighing slightly as she passes, Claire decides to be slightly rude to the assistant. "I'd lose the attitude," she comments, rolling her eyes. "If you haven't noticed, I'm around here more often than you are, and, well, my hand may accidentally slip with a stake in it…" she mimes an action with her own heart as the model, smiling slightly as a look of horror flashes across the vampire's face. "Have a nice day!"

The smile on Claire's face soon disappears as she enters Amelie's office.

Fingers pressed together, her chin resting upon them lightly, the only phrase with which to define Amelie's pose would be _model of decorum_. Not a hair is out of place, and no emotion you wouldn't expect to find in a place of work lies upon her face.

"I do not take lightly to threats to my staff, Claire, something I think you recall from your time in my service," Amelie says, her voice sharp. "Sit down; I dislike you cluttering up the place, as you very well know."

Claire hesitates before sitting down in the smaller, less fancy of the two chairs before Amelie's desk. They're different to normal, fancier; perhaps the Founder has been…_entertaining._ The thought flashes through Claire's mind, a grin sneaking onto her lips as she considers the possibility of the Founder dating.

"What is so funny, Claire?" Amelie half-snaps, and Claire jumps back into the present moment, no longer indulging in fantasies. "Whilst we are on the topic of questions, why do you feel the need to visit my office? Do you forget that I have work which requires completion? Or am I merely a plug to fill your dwindling social life, now that Ms Rosser is no longer within your life?"

Her words strike a chord within Claire's heart, the reminder of that fateful night nine months ago hitting her: the fire, the blazing heat, the screams, the agonising sounds of bodies burning—vampire bodies, of course.

Michael's death sent Eve spiralling down a road of depression and insanity, something which Amelie felt would be cured by an evening in the prisons below, something Claire agreed to, though with a heavy heart. She hasn't returned since.

"Don't," Claire mutters, though she's knows it's futile. Amelie does what she wants; to an extent, she always has. "I…I just wanted to leave the laboratory and so said…said…"

A short laugh bursts out of Amelie's mouth, and the older woman leans back in her chair, no longer quite as formal—yet still formidably so. "I see, little Claire; you are using visiting me as an excuse to leave the laboratory…but the question has become, why do you so keenly want to leave Myrnin's company?" her eyes glisten with an interest Claire can barely recall seeing before, and certainly never with regards to _her_ life.

"I…Earlier on, he said something about all humans in this town being really stupid and that they're nothing compared to him—and I think he meant me as well," Claire mutters, realising as she speaks just how petty this sounds. "And…and it hurt. Because I already know that I'm nothing more than an assistant to him; I didn't want him to think that I'm a crappy scientist as well."

Again another first, or so Claire believes, as Amelie moves her face slightly, twisting it as she considers the problem. "Have you considered that Myrnin did not mean to put you within the same category as the others, and merely that you are reading far too much into phrasing? After all, you do know how Myrnin does not mince his words; he does not think before he speaks and can hurt many hearts in the process." A smile once again creeps across Amelie's face, before it is replaced with a careful neutrality. "Though am I correct in interpreting your statement as you having certain—"

Claire cuts Amelie off, not wanting her to say it. For the Founder to state that it exists, it would really make it real, really make her one-way, _stupid_, unreciprocated feelings true. "Maybe, I hadn't considered that before," she comments, deciding to ignore the look upon Amelie's face at being interrupted. "And, um, well, I suppose I should be going, really…lots to do, you know how it is, working and studying at the same time…" she trails off as she begins to stand up, her eyes meeting Amelie's once again.

"Go," Amelie sighs, waving Claire away with a sweeping of her hand. "Though let it be said that I am _not_ a therapist and never again will I be sitting here, listening to all of your _human_ problems. Come to me only when you have a legitimate grievance, is that clear?"

Claire shrugs, barely listening—she could be agreeing to sign over her soul for all she would realise—and begins to sprint towards the door, already clear on her next location.

_~x~_

"You're underage. I could lose my license for this."

Oliver's tone isn't what Claire expected to hear; she was, in all honesty, expecting something sarcastic and bitter, especially after her comments of the morning. But when he entered his café to find Claire sitting at the counter, downing glasses of what looked like vodka (the barrista managed to dilute it with lemonade, not that Claire particularly noticed) he surprised her greatly.

Claire shrugs, picking up the refilled glass and downing it in one, wincing as the bitter, burning taste stings the back of her throat. "Not my problem, Oliver. I'm just trying to drown my sorrows, after all." She smiles slightly, her eyes clouding over slightly to make Oliver seem more like a silhouette than an actual person. "It's not working. Why isn't this stuff working? It always worked when other people do it on movies!" she begins to cry, irrational tears dripping down her cheeks as she motions for yet another drink of whatever it is she's drinking—she doesn't know, she doesn't care, and if she wasn't in this mood, it would frighten her.

It doesn't, though, because this alcohol-fuelled stupor doesn't care about sanity and caring about her life and health; it just wants more alcohol to try and block out his words—his accusations that she's normal, that she doesn't do anything but blur into the mundane nature that is humanity in Morganville.

"Cut her off," Oliver says firmly to the barrista, taking the seat next to Claire as he does so. "I don't normally get involved in your life, Claire, but a comment from Amelie made me realise that perhaps things aren't going very well for you. So what is it that troubles you?"

The fact that it's _Oliver_ who has come to her rescue, the one asking her what's wrong with her life, makes drunken Claire laugh for a long time, stopping only when the laughs turn to sobs. "You don't care."

He shrugs, leaning backwards. "You're right. I don't. I just would prefer it if you explained what is wrong with you, rather than leaving it bottled up and then you going home as a drunk—if you _make_ it home, that is—and doing something like killing yourself." He sighs again, this time louder. "It would be such a waste."

"Fine, if you really want to know, it's because I'm _normal_." She spits the last word out, not entirely sure why she's so bitter about this; surely a few months ago, she would have been thrilled that Myrnin thought of her as one of the rest? She would have been thrilled that she wasn't different, no matter how much time she spent with vampires.

Oliver's brows furrow. "I don't follow."

"Myrnin told me that all humans in Morganville are stupid and that he needs to dumb himself down in order to associate with them." Her tone grows increasingly bitter throughout, just as the tears threaten to drown her. "He told me that I'm just like the rest of them, Oliver…and it hurts. I don't know why it hurts, but it does. So I want to forget, and I don't see why you want to stop me doing this."

She doesn't notice Oliver standing up; neither does Claire notice him reaching around to grab her by the waist. Only when she's in mid-air, flung over his shoulder, does she realise that she's moved, causing her to scream—albeit incoherently—for Oliver to put her down, and that he's a filthy bastard and not getting any no matter what he thinks.

He ignores every word she says, marching with her through to his office where a waiting portal merely requires him to open the door. She already knows where he's going to open it to, and she fights to get him to put her down, begging him to let her stay in his office.

She doesn't want to go back here, not now.

But he ignores her—just like she knew he would.

_~x~_

The laboratory is dark and refreshingly cool as Oliver steps into it, Claire still over his shoulder. She tries immediately to forget the clarity the coolness brings to the moment, trying desperately to return to the drunken stupor she was within seconds before.

"What are you doing here, you filthy murderer?" Myrnin snaps, appearing out of nowhere to be before Oliver and Claire. "Oh…Claire—what happened? What did you let her do?"

"Being the responsible man I am, when I found her drinking—underage, no doubt something to do with her relationship with you—I thought it best to bring her to the closest person she knows," Oliver snaps back. Claire immediately asks him to tone it down—or she tries. She isn't sure how clearly her request comes through. "If it's problematic for you," he sneers at this point, "I can take her to Amelie. She would probably be better for her, considering…"

"No, no," Myrnin replies quickly—too quickly. "I'll take her. She's perfectly safe here."

Oliver laughs quickly, a short, sharp bark which sounds to Claire's ears almost inhuman. "That wasn't what I was talking about." Nonetheless, he still hands Claire's struggling body into Myrnin's arms, ignoring Claire's slurred insults as he disappears. Something feels different about being in Myrnin's arms, rather than Oliver's, but she can't quite put her finger upon it as she rests her head against Myrnin's chest. It's far too comfortable, for one, somewhere she'd be quite happy to spend an extended period of time…

As the portal door closes, Claire realises, with too much lucidity, that she's in Myrnin's arms, in the laboratory, in the dark—and she's drunk. She supposes that she could get away with anything, just to see if he would do anything…but before she can even consider this thought, Myrnin's moving with her, the darkness swishing past her face far too quickly.

Gently, Myrnin sets Claire down on the bed, covering her in a sort-of patchwork quilt Claire vaguely recognises from somewhere. "Sleep, little one," he murmurs gravely, running one finger softly down her cheek. "We can talk in the morning."

And then, so softly she may have imagined it, Myrnin's lips press to her forehead, before they—and him—disappear into the darkness.

_~x~_

The headache Claire awakens with is akin to nothing she has ever experienced before, Claire thinks; it feels as though someone's attempting to get out of her brain—and they don't care about any damage that they cause in the process.

After groaning once, Claire sits up slowly, turning slightly to see that Myrnin is already standing beside her. "How long have you been there?" she growls, suddenly embarrassed. She doesn't remember what she said last night—and she doesn't want him to see her like this. It's just further proof that she's _ordinary_.

Myrnin hands her a glass of water, his skin cool against hers, a welcome distraction to the heat her hangover has brought her skin. "Just when I heard you awaken. I thought you may like refreshment—and some food? I have prepared some, if you would like any?" It may just be in Claire's imagination, but she swears that she can hear a sort of hopefulness to her boss's tone that wasn't there the minute before.

"Um…yes?" she replies, her stomach suddenly rumbling. Perhaps that would explain why she got so drunk in what she remembered only to be about an hour or so; she didn't eat before it.

Myrnin stares at her, something unreadable in his eyes as he reaches right into her soul with his look—something Claire is quite happy to occur. "Very well, come through when you are ready. After breakfast, I wish to talk to you."

As he leaves the bedroom soundlessly, Claire groans. She knew that there would be some sort of chat coming up—she just hadn't realised how soon.

_~x~_

A new sort of anticipation, hesitation almost, runs through Claire as she sets the glass which originally contained orange juice back upon the table. A shower and fresh clothes—at some point in the night, her top had become covered in what she presumed to be sick—followed by a fry-up managed to make strides in her mood and hangover, but she has never been more certain that this following conversation would completely break all this progress and send her back to the low mood she was in last night, with Oliver.

"So…" she begins, trailing off as she looks at Myrnin. He's sat with her throughout her entire meal, not talking or eating, merely staring at her. She has to say that she's rather enjoyed it, feeling as though, for once, she's the _true_ focus of his attention, rather than merely her brain—or whatever he keeps her around for.

"So," he echoes, a decisive flatness to his tone that usually doesn't exist. "Would you like to tell me why you felt the need to go and consume a ridiculous quantity of alcohol, an amount which would rival my drinking at times, rather than talking to me about your problems?" To Claire's ears, he sounds as though he's struggling to hold back tears, something which isn't helping the situation. "Do I repulse you so greatly, Claire, that you cannot talk to me about your issues? Or is it something else?"

She takes a few moments to reply, trying to get her thoughts into some sort of logical order before responding. This, of course, is nearly impossible, and she knows it. It's merely a stalling technique before she has to look up from the table and stare into Myrnin's eyes once more.

"I couldn't do that because…because…" she trails off, not entirely sure how to phrase what she wants to say. Does she tell him straight off that she feels _something_ for him, or does she leave it until she's covered the whole 'average human' issue?

He raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for an answer.

"Firstly, I drank _that_ much?" she confirms, incredulous that she downed so much when, in fact, she had thought she had barely had anything. "But the reason I drank was because…well…you see…"

"I understand," Myrnin cuts in, thinking that rather than tell him, Claire's merely trying to get around not giving him an answer. "You don't want to tell me because it relates to your feelings for Shane, something you do not feel comfortable discussing with me. It's fine, Claire; you can leave if you wish. I won't stop you."

She blinks once, then twice, unsure how they managed to get from her refusing to answer a question, to him presuming she's about to declare undying love for a man who hasn't bothered to see her for longer than she can remember. "Myrnin, that _isn't_ what I was going to say!" she protests, picking something up from the table to hold in her hand. She just wants something to hold, to distract her from having to look into the caverns that are Myrnin's eyes. "I…I went and got drunk for two reasons. One is that I got irrationally pissed off about the fact that you called me stupid and basically said that you need to dumb down to get onto my level, the second being that I felt that you don't love me because of the aforementioned reason, so any feelings I have are just wasted. There, now I've told you, I can go now. See you later."

She attempts to get up and walk past Myrnin, but his hand shoots out to grab her around the wrist—gently, she supposes he doesn't want to repeat his accidental breaking of her wrist—stopping her in her tracks.

"_Stupid_?" Myrnin repeats, aghast. Just the one word causes tears to spring up in Claire's eyes; she doesn't know why. She never does. "Claire, _cariad_, you are one of the brightest—if not the brightest—young people I know. Where on earth did you get that idea from?"

"You said that all humans are boring and stupid and you need to dumb down to try and understand them," she paraphrases, using her free hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. "And as you didn't distinguish me, I thought—"

He sighs, nodding slowly in understanding. "You thought that I was subtly saying that the reason I require sugar is to keep you within the loop, as though I merely work with you because I feel as though I owe you it?" he confirms, reading further into the statement than where Claire had led him to. To Claire, it merely proves that he really is a genius, able to read into things which ordinary people can't.

Before she has chance to say anything, Myrnin's eyes lock upon hers once more, and Claire is surprised to notice that, in his eyes also, tears are present. "Claire, you don't understand," he whispers, letting go of her hand to stand in front of her, his eyes on her always. "_You_ are the brightest person I have ever met; the way that you shine, the way that you brighten up everywhere I go, it's incomparable. Everything around you dulls into nothingness, into being unimportant in comparison to yourself; you are the shining beacon within this laboratory, within this town. Your brain is unparalleled—well, almost—and I cannot say that it is _anything_ other than a true privilege to have the opportunity to work with you. You have had ample opportunities to leave Morganville, and each time you turn it down, I feel a little smugness within my heart, that you have chosen to remain and work with _me_, rather than any of these scientists in the big cities. Do not _ever_ think you are anything other than the most important part of this laboratory, Claire, for it simply isn't true."

"But…but…" Claire tries to argue, unable to formulate her words into a coherent argument; like yesterday, she's struck dumb. "But you said _all_ humans!"

Myrnin sighs, switching from feverishly praising to slightly irritated within half a second. To Claire, he's glowing, an indescribably bright man who flickers around the edges at all times, just waiting to have an outlet for all the energy which burns within him; he's an infinite power source, someone who will never burn out. "Yes, I said all humans in Morganville; it was a _generalisation_. I did not mean you. Do you, or do you not, say all vampires in Morganville on a regular basis, but not include myself in that?"

Flushing red, Claire nods.

"There you have it, a generalisation; it does not mean that I include _you_ in it, Claire! I never would."

Silence reigns for a moment or two as they both process this, before Myrnin recalls the second part to Claire's explanation for her drinking. "So…the…your second reason?" he asks weakly, and Claire realises that she has to take the lead on this one.

Her flushing cheeks darken in colour, until she's certain that she resembles a beetroot, but she manages to turn away from Myrnin. The only way that she can even dream of explaining this is not to his face; she doesn't think she could take the humiliation of seeing his face as he rejects her.

"I…well…I don't know why or how or anything, but I sort of…well…may _like_ you in that way?" she explains hesitantly, wringing her fingers together. "It's cool that you don't feel the same way, I never meant to tell you, so I'll just be going now to go and get some sleep and, well, stuff." She laughs slightly as she begins to walk forwards, towards the portal in the corner of the room.

"Will you _stop_ trying to leave before I have chance to say my part?" Myrnin sighs, sounding very slightly irritated as he speaks. Before Claire has a chance to reply, he's standing in front of her, and the look on his face is one Claire reads as pity—an emotion she never wanted to see on his face. "I do have a voice too, Claire, and I do have an opinion, also."

The closeness to him makes Claire want to take as many steps away as possible in shame, but she knows that if she moves backwards, he'll follow, until her back is pressed against a wall, and she has no chance of escape. She'd rather leave her options slightly more open than that.

"Do you recall what I said previously, about you being a shining star, being the beacon in my life, someone I _need_?" he asks, and Claire nods, deciding not to pull him up on not having mentioned the final point. "Does that not perhaps suggest to you how I feel about you, little one, sweet cariad? I was subtle because I felt that your heart was not with me, as I never expected it would be—who would love insane, mad Myrnin?—and I did not want to make you feel guilt. I wanted you here because you were—you _are_—such a good scientist, it would be foolish for me to make you uncomfortable here because I told you how I feel. Yet that does not mean that I do not _feel_, Claire, and oh, how I feel! I feel every day, feelings which never go away, no matter how much sugar or other drugs I take. _You are always on my mind_, and it drives me mad to know that I can think about you—but never have you as my own."

Stunned into silence once more, Claire merely stands there as Myrnin reaches out to take her shoulders, his grasp gentle. She gets the feeling he's waiting to see if she'll resist, and when she doesn't, he gradually pulls her close for a hug.

"You're…you're much better at putting it into words than I am," Claire mumbles against the fabric of the shoulder of his jacket.

"That's years of life for you, _cariad_…and the fact that I don't have a system filled with the residue of alcohol," he replies, a slight laugh in his voice. "So…er…you feel the same, or did I misread that as I so very often do?"

Claire shakes her head slowly, not entirely sure how the situation progressed from her attempting to flee the laboratory in shame, to the two of them having confessed love for the other without having exactly said the words _I love you_.

"I do," she whispers, not feeling the need for any more words, given that their lips suddenly meet, ensuring that any doubts that this is real are swept away.

And so they stand, together, the beacon and the flame, together, both shining as brightly as the other, in harmony.

_~x~_

"You know how you said that no-one could ever love insane, mad Myrnin?" Claire whispers as she lies in Myrnin's arms, just as she did for a few moments the night when she was brought to his laboratory.

"Yes?" he replies, his lips gentle against her ear.

"You were wrong. Because, you see, I do."

* * *

This was diabolical, I'm so sorry, but if you do favourite please review!

(or just review anyway and tell me what you think)


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